When Tel Aviv grit meets Iranian missiles: A city’s calm mask and the fear beneath

Only in Tel Aviv does the aftermath of a ballistic missile barrage still include sunbathers (at Gordon Beach) and patrons sipping coffee (on Dizengoff Street). Since Friday night, explosions have lit up the skies as Iran launched hundreds of ballistic missiles at Israel in response to the Jewish state’s historic and unprecedented attack on the Islamic Republic.

Iran’s response has sent millions into bomb shelters and directly hit residential areas in Tel Aviv, Ramat Gan, Tamra and Bat Yam, killing 14 people and injuring dozens more.

In other countries, such resilience would be unimaginable. But Tel Aviv has been living under close to constant fire for nearly two years — weathering rockets from Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Houthis, two earlier Iranian ballistic missile strikes, and the persistent dread of an ever-expanding, seemingly endless war.

Over time, residents have grown skilled at compartmentalizing crises, maintaining composure, adapting quickly and carrying on.

For Avichai, 23, a WiFi technician, Sunday was even busier than usual.

“Many people are stuck at home in their shelters, with WiFi and technical issues,” he said. “There’s a greater need for help than normal.”

You wouldn’t know from his calm and sunny demeanour that Avichai lives just two blocks away from a building in Bat Yam that was hit directly by an Iranian ballistic missile over Saturday night — a strike that killed seven people, including two children, wounded nearly 200 and partially collapsed the structure.

“A friend of mine lives there and was injured,” he said. “He and his brother are now in the hospital.”

The fact that his family has a “mamad” — a reinforced shelter room inside their apartment — doesn’t make him feel entirely safe.

“It’s scary. Your whole building shakes. Even if you have a mamad, if there’s a hit, that could be it,” he said. Yet, Avichai said he didn’t feel anxious.

“I haven’t felt stressed by sirens since I was 12,” he said, during the IDF’s 8-day war with Hamas in 2012, preceded by the launch of over 100 rockets from Gaza into Israel in one day.

“My dad saw how stressed I was from the sirens, so he would take me with him to military bases to distribute food and clothing to soldiers. There, you hear booms every second, and you get used to it.”

Avichai’s father, a rabbi, served in the army reserves until recently and is now a member of Bat Yam’s civilian security team. On Saturday night, he was at the scene of the missile strike, helping first responders search for missing persons and evacuate residents.

“Over the last few days, he hasn’t gotten home until late every night,” Avichai said. “But it’s what gives him purpose.”

Cracks in the calm

Despite Avichai’s outward calm, for many Tel Avivians, this latest chapter feels different. The sheer scale of the Iranian assault and the uncertainty surrounding what comes next have cracked the city’s famously calm exterior.

By Sunday, the first weekday after a harrowing weekend of missile strikes, residents were cautiously stepping out — emerging from shelters to resume life, however tenuously. They were working from cafés, jogging along the beach promenade, scootering between errands — all with a steady undercurrent of fatigue, fear, and frustration thrumming beneath the quieter, though far from empty, streets.

On the normally bustling Dizengoff Street, Facility — a cozy café known for its excellent pastries by day and happy hours by night — is open, though noticeably quieter than usual. A few customers sat outside over coffee, served by the cafe’s owner, Noam.

At just 23 years old, Noam opened Cafe Facility six months ago. He decided to reopen the cafe on Sunday, after closing it on Friday and Saturday due to the missile attacks, even though weekends are his busiest hours.

“What can you do? There are worse things in life, and I’m trying to be optimistic, but this has been an economic hit,” he said.

Noam was especially disappointed by the cancellation of Pride events this past weekend, which he and his partner had planned to attend.

“We were supposed to go to the parade, and several festivals, and it was all canceled,” he said.

The café is still decorated with rainbow Pride flags. It had been expecting higher traffic due to the celebrations, making the cancellation a personal letdown and a blow to business.

Like many Tel Avivians, Noam balances sensible caution with a kind of stubborn resilience. He bikes to work depending on the heat and said he doesn’t feel nervous about being out.

“I trust the Home Front Command, and I’m near a safe room, so I’ll go there if needed,” he said. “People are now going out. During the day, it’s pretty quiet — it’s the nights when there are [missiles].” (A few hours later on Sunday, Israelis were called to their sheltered areas also during the day.)

Beyond the immediate security and economic strain, Noam said the situation has prompted deeper reflection about the future.

“My partner and I really want to have children — that hasn’t changed,” he said. “But we do find ourselves questioning whether this is the place to raise them.”

What lies ahead?

It’s a tension familiar to many Israelis: the grit and functionality that characterize daily life. But beneath this outward composure lies a current of deep fear and uncertainty about the future, shared by many.

Danielle Bett, 35, a Communications Director from Ramat Gan, stepped out onto Dizengoff Street after several sleepless nights to run some essential errands. Beyond the fear of missile strikes, what weighed most heavily was a deep unease about this growing front and the leadership steering the country through it.

“I’m not sure how long this is going to go on for — Netanyahu hasn’t committed to anything like a timeline, which is worrying,” she said. “It’s only been a couple of evenings and everyone’s mental health has been affected, not to mention the people who’ve been injured and killed.”

While Bett acknowledged the real threat posed by Iran, she said it was hard to separate the current moment from months of government dysfunction and war.

“Obviously, Iran having nuclear capabilities is dangerous for Israel, the region and the world, so it’s possible that this is a just war and this was the right time to strike,” she noted.

“But, we shouldn’t forget that this is the same political leadership that has led the war in Gaza, where there are still hostages being held. We shouldn’t blindly get behind that leadership and trust that it’s able to carry out these attacks responsibly.”

Terror groups in the Gaza Strip are holding 53 hostages, including 52 of the 251 abducted by Hamas-led terrorists on October 7, 2023.

They include the bodies of at least 31 confirmed dead by the IDF, and 20 are believed to be alive. There are grave concerns for the well-being of two others, Israeli officials have said.

The government has faced mounting criticism over its failure to secure the hostages’ release or offer a clear plan for ending the war in Gaza.

Bett said her choice to leave her Ramat Gan apartment on Sunday was driven by necessity, not calm or trust.

“There’s only so long that you can stay at home,” she said. “There are basic things like going to the pharmacy, getting food, that you need to do.”

Ramat Gan has been among the hardest hit cities in Israel during the Iranian missile strikes. Iran fired some 200 ballistic missiles over Friday night, dozens of which broke through Israeli air defenses. Three people were killed, including Etti Engel Cohen of Ramat Gan, and more than 80 others were injured nationwide. Entire apartment buildings in the city were damaged or partially collapsed.

Like many others in the area, Bett has spent the last few nights in and out of her bomb shelter, shaken by the blasts.

“I’m definitely scared,” she said. “You don’t always know if something in your area has been hit. You don’t know what you’re going to open the door to — if you’ll see destruction around you or not.”

“This just isn’t a sustainable way to live,” she added.